


before the evening's gone away, I think that we can make it

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Gay Relationship, Coming Out, Crack Relationships, Eventual Fluff, Falling In Love, Fanmix, Ficmix, Light Angst, M/M, MY CRACK RSHIP OF CHOICE IDC HERE YOU GET MORE, Mild Sexual Content, Other, asoiafpridefest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “Nonsense, don’t even go there. I could do that by talking to you about my less than stellar relationship with my brother but you don’t want to.”“And what if I take a rain check on it?” He asks, tentatively, thinking am I seriously saying I want to do this again, except that — he does want to do this again, he realizes. Very much. He’s having fun, which hasn’t happened in a long time, and he likes the place, and he’s never really talked about Rhaegar to anyone who didn’t know already and it’s liberating, damn it —“Sure,” Brynden says, “I’d be delighted to cash on that, though you might not want to.”Or: hello, have some more redfish modern au. WITH A SOUNDTRACK.





	before the evening's gone away, I think that we can make it

**Author's Note:**

> DKLGJSDLKGJ I AM SO LATE WITH THE PRIDEFEST STUFF I STILL HAVE ANOTHER IN THE WORKS anyway this was for day twelve, _non-canon au_. Have fun with the modern au ficmix of doom which is way longer than it has any right to be but HEY I TRIED. The tumblr post where you can find a dl link is [here](http://janiedean.tumblr.com/post/175454804943/asoiaf-pride-fest-asoiafpridefest-day-twelve), otherwise you can listen on the playmoss playlist linked in the beginning. :D
> 
> Also: I DON'T OWN SHIT, THEY ARE GRRM'S, THE SONGS ARE THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNER'S and I only own the crackshipping. Have fun while I vaguely saunter downwards and leave this mess here /o\

 

 

**[listen on playmoss;](https://playmoss.com/en/janiedean/playlist/before-the-evening-s-gone-away-i-think-that-we-could-make-it-joncbrynden-tully-modern-au-fanmix) **

 

1.  **Heartbreak Hotel - Elvis Presley**  


 

> _You make me so lonely baby_
> 
> _Well, I'm so lonely_
> 
> _I get so lonely I could die_
> 
> _Hey now, if your baby leaves you_
> 
> _And you got a tale to tell_
> 
> _Just take a walk down lonely street_
> 
> _To Heartbreak Hotel  
>    
>  _

“I’ll have a glass of bourbon. Straight,” Brynden says as he sits down at the hostel’s bar — he certainly couldn’t afford anything better and it’s been a long trip, but they _do_ have drinks and he thinks he can do with one or ten.

The bartender, a kid who looks fresh out of A-levels, takes a good look at him and grabs a glass. “You want ice in it or not?”

He thinks about it for one moment. “Yes, thank you.” He thinks it’s supposed to taste better according to some people — no clue, he’s usually more of a beer type, but he needs something strong right now.

“Bad week?” The kid asks as he pushes the glass over to him. Brynden looks up at him — he’s pretty, nothing to say, maybe a bit too much, with pale blonde hair, neatly shaven. The tag on his shirt says _Kem_. Cute, though he’s definitely not Brynden’s type — too young, for one.

“Bad three months,” he agrees, wondering if he should just say it or not, but then again he’s the only one at the bar. It’s a slow night. “Bad _everything_. And I think I will need another before I ask you where I can make a phone call.”

“See that hallway? The elevator is midway. You go to the end, there’s a payphone.”

“Thanks,” Brynden tells him, sipping the bourbon. Well, it’s definitely good with ice, nothing to say.

“Got a guy you should call?” Kem asks a moment later. He doesn’t sound like he’s asking out of courtesy, but maybe he’s just bored if Brynden’s the only client. Then again, it’s London, in _February_ , in _this_ area. He doubts it’s the best time for long lines of customers in a place that has rainbow flags just over the entrance.

“No,” he says, “got a _niece_ I should call.” He sighs. “Long story short, my brother and I co-owned a restaurant back home.”

“What, Ireland?”

“How did you guess?”

“The accent,” Kem shrugs. “Let me guess, he found out you don’t fancy ladies?”

“No, and since he could technically press charges for that, I was made to understand I’d better leave of my own volition. His daughter has been living here for a few years with her husband, though, so I should call _her_ and see if she’s willing to let me sleep on the couch until I figure my life out.”

“Christ,” Kem says, “your brother didn’t take it well.”

“You don’t even want to know,” Brynden sighs, taking another drink. Then he realizes he’s at the end of the glass. “Right. Can I have that refill before I call her?”

“Sure,” Kem says, grabbing back the bottle and pouring over the left over ice. “That bad?”

He shakes his head. “We were close before she left, but I don’t know how she’s going to take it. But I can’t live in a hotel for the next two months or so.” Not when he had spent enough of the money he had left on paperwork, the plane and so on.

“Good luck,” Kem says, “you look like you need it. If you want company later, you can ask the owner, he knows a few places nearby where you can score a date.”

 _If only_. “Thanks, but right now I just think I really need a bed,” he replies, as politely as he can manage, and finishes his drink before standing up and heading for the payphone. He doesn’t even feel remotely drunk, damn it, but he can’t go back and ask for a third refill just to postpone the inevitable.

He pushes a few coins inside the phone, dials Cat’s number and waits, and in the handful of moments that it takes for someone to respond he thinks, _have I ever felt so alone in my entire life_?

The answer is most likely no, he decides just before the phone stops ringing and Ned picks it up.

“Hey,” he says, “I was wondering, could I talk to Cat or is she —”

“Hold on a moment. Cat, your uncle’s on the phone, I’ll take the kid! Here she comes.”

“Thanks,” he says, and a moment later he can hear the phone being handed over.

“Cat?” He asks as soon as she says hi. “I — I think I need to ask you a favor.”

“Is it about what Dad called about a week ago?”

… Did he? Damn it.

“What if it is?”

“We can discuss things later, but if you need the couch, it’s all yours.”

He doesn’t know he’s crying until he put the phone back in the cradle and wiped at his eyes.

 

2\. **I Still Miss Someone - Rosanne Cash**

 

>   
>  _At my door the leaves are falling_
> 
> _A cold wild wind will come_
> 
> _Sweethearts walk by together_
> 
> _And I still miss someone_
> 
> _I go out on a party_
> 
> _And look for a little fun_
> 
> _But I find a darkened corner_
> 
> _'Cause I still miss someone_
> 
> _I wonder if he's sorry_
> 
> _For leavin' what we'd begun_
> 
> _There's someone for me somewhere_
> 
> _And I still miss someone_

 

“Jon, sitting in the only bloody darkened corner in this place looking like some kind of criminal on the run was _not_ what we had agreed on,” Oberyn whispers as he sits down next to him.

“We agreed that I was coming to your stag party, I never said I was going to engage,” Jon replies quietly, nursing his glass of excellent, _excellent_ scotch and deciding that he’s getting a refill very, very soon.

“You do know that it’s been —”

“If you were about to say _almost a year_ , don’t bother. It’s been ten months, three weeks and four days, and yes, I _counted_ , and I know it’s most likely unhealthy _and_ pathetic, and I should just move on, but it’s not happening for now. So no, I’m not _looking around.”_

“Are you aware that _Elia_ asked me how you were holding up after she saw you at the wake?”

Jon _flinches_ — it was enough that some two months after Rhaegar disappeared into thin air just _weeks_ before they were supposed to marry he had realized how terrible he had thought of the poor woman and asked her out for coffee just to apologize and she had been entirely too nice about it, way more than he had deserved. But if now she’s worrying about how _he_ is holding up —

“You can tell her I’m doing all right, thanks.”

“No you’re not,” Oberyn rolls his eyes, “and being around Aerys isn’t doing your health any favors.”

“I _know_ that, do you think I _want_ to?”

Too bad that when the man you’ve always been in love with and the woman he left his soon-to-be wife for (after having _two_ children with her) die in a car crash and leave behind a six month old kid that was named after _you_ and you want to give social services a good case so that they give custody to the mother’s parents you _have_ to give them that case, and so you have to be _around_ his grandfather regardless.

“Anyway, the moment social services tell me I’ve given them enough dirt on him I’m _not_ ever coming close to that house in my life.”

“Good, but — Jon. I _know_. But he’s dead. And he’s not coming back. Maybe you should consider moving on, and I’m saying it _friendly_.”

Jon knows, he _does_. Still —

“It’s _your_ stag party, go have fun,” he says. “I’ll try to leave my _darkened corner_ in a few. But I’m not looking around.”

“Good enough,” Oberyn says, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t take all night to get there, though.”

He forces himself to smile as Oberyn joins the larger table again, all smiles and perfectly white teeth against dark skin that almost shines gold in the club’s light — the orange he’s wearing _does_ help with that effect.

In another world, their occasional flings might have been more than occasional flings.

But not in this one, Jon decides, and regardless of how _stupid_ it is, he just — the world’s turned duller since Rhaegar died, and nothing’s going to change it, and he might as well make peace with it.

He’ll join the others at the main table. He will.

Just not _right now_.

 

3\. ( **It's Hard) Letting You Go - Bon Jovi**  
  


>   
>  _I drove all night down streets that wouldn't bend_
> 
> _But somehow they drove me back here once again_
> 
> _To the place I lost at love, and the place I lost my soul_
> 
> _I wish I'd just burn down this place that we called home_
> 
> _It would all have been so easy_
> 
> _If you'd only made me cry_
> 
> _And told me how you're leaving me_
> 
> _To some organ grinder's lullaby_
> 
> _Well, me, these days_
> 
> _I just miss you, it's the nights that I go insane_
> 
> _Unless you're coming back for me_
> 
> _That's one thing I know that won't change_
> 
> _It's hard, it's hard, it's hard, so hard_
> 
> _It's hard letting you go_
> 
> _It's hard, so hard, it's tearing out my heart_
> 
> _But it's hard letting you go_

  
Sometimes, Jon thinks, he wishes he had told Rhaegar and that Rhaegar had said he didn’t reciprocate if only because then he’d have had closure.

It’s not that he didn’t know that Rhaegar was straight, because he _did_ , but everyone has exceptions, or at least a lot of people _might_ , and — he knows it was likely hoping in vain, but since he died _just after_ informing him of how much he appreciated his friendship and all the help he’d given him after he called off his wedding _without extra judgment_ (if only he knew, _if only he knew_ ), and then three hours later he was dead and Lyanna was too and Jon had to be the one giving Aerys the news because he was at their place (as in: also Aerys’s) to keep an eye on his namesake and _he_ had answered the phone —

Listen, he knows it’s not healthy, he _knows that_ , and sure as hell it’s everything but healthy that it’s three in the morning and he’s spent the last three hours or so wasting precious gas driving to Margate, where he and Rhaegar Targaryen met in high school because they were in two different classes in the same school that were both going on a school trip to the place where Eliot wrote part of the _Waste Land_ and Rhaegar had spent the time correcting the tourist guide under his breath and Jon was gone right there and then.

Still, he tried to go to sleep early, he woke up half an hour later after some weird dream in which Rhaegar was looking at him with those sad, violet eyes and mouthed that he was sorry, and he just couldn’t stay in the house.

Which is why he’s driving to fucking Margate, he’s parking on a spot next to the beach, grabbing the bottle of wine he brought at a night shop back in London and sitting on the beach drinking straight from it.

Christ, he’s _pathetic_ , but what else can he do other than getting drunk because Rhaegar’s been gone for three years and he’s not coming back and he’s never going to know that Jon’s _still_ in love with him and his youngest kid is not going to remember him but he _is_ going to remember Aerys regardless of how much Jon would have preferred if it wasn’t the case, and fine, now he’s with his mother’s family and there’s no comparison whatsoever to be had, but still —

“Rhaegar,” he says, taking another drink, “damn it, you could’ve just _not fucking died_ , but I just hope you’re appreciating the effort I put into making sure your father doesn’t ruin your kids.” Good thing Aerys likes to pretend that only Aegon exists because he’s the only one who _looks like him_ but Elia doesn’t let him visit. He’s _definitely_ re-evaluated Elia in the last few years, and shame on him for not having done it before, but —

She was going to marry the man he loved, wasn’t she?

He shrugs and takes another drink. “I miss you,” he says quietly, “fuck. I miss you. And I’ll never stop. God, I never will, won’t I?”

He _knows_ he won’t.

Shit.

He should have just fucking told him and accepted the let down and _maybe_ he’d have moved on, but like this?

Like this, it feels like he never will.

He stays until the sun is up and his bottle’s over, then he finds a coffee shop and orders a double, black, no sugar, otherwise he’s never going to be able to drive back before lunch.

The town looks as pretty as it did back in the day, but he can’t help it — everything still looks dull.

He has this nagging suspicion that everything _always_ will look dull, at this point.

He might as well make peace with it.

  
4.  **Someday - Steve Earle & Shawn Colvin**

>   
>  There ain't a lot that you can do in this town
> 
> You drive down to the lake and then you turn back around
> 
> I got me a 67 Chevy, she's low and sleek and black
> 
> Someday I'll put her on that interstate and never look back
> 
> Someday I'm finally gonna let go
> 
> 'Cause I know there's a better way
> 
> And I wanna know what's over that rainbow
> 
> I'm gonna get out of here someday
> 
> Someday

 

“You know,” Cat says one morning, early, as she pours them both some coffee, “you don’t _have_ to impress the neighbors.

“… What?” In his defense, he still hadn’t had coffee, so he hadn’t really put two and two together.

She _stares_ at him for a moment, sipping hers, one hand on the cup and the other on the swell of her stomach — she’s waiting for the third one, and fuck, has he been living in her guest room for almost five years by now?

“I’m saying, that since you camped in the guest room, which both Ned and I are _still_ absolutely glad for because I don’t know how we wouldn’t have lost it without a third adult around, you might have left it just to go to the cinema and so on, and — I know why you’re doing it.”

“Really?”

“You’re doing it because you think that if the neighbors find out what my father found out that’ll cause issues and such nonsense, but what I mean is, you don’t _have_ to. If you want to go out and meet people no one here would mind, least of all the owner.”

“Why, what do you know about the owner?”

“Other that he’s the brother of Ned’s best friend and that according to the latter he hasn’t told anyone that he’s in love with Mr. Seaworth just because his wife would use that in court while he’s divorcing.”

“Seaworth — wait, the porter?”

“Exactly. He’s not going to kick anyone out if people find out you don’t fancy women, and honestly, I don’t care, Ned doesn’t care, Robb _certainly_ doesn’t care and I doubt Sansa cares about anyone’s sentimental history right now. What I mean is, you don’t have to do this _here_ , too, when I have a feeling you did it at home for thirty and some years, didn’t you?”

For a moment, he doesn’t even know what to say — he stands there with the coffee cup halfway to his mouth and then he drinks some of it because he needs to take some time while he composes himself and most likely avoids doing something embarrassing at six thirty AM in front of his pregnant niece who has just told him to avoid hiding if he doesn’t want to.

“I might’ve,” he finally says. “But — are you sure? I mean, I _could_ , no one cares at work, but —”

“Dad knows you’ve been staying here this long and he doesn’t appreciate, have you seen me doing something about it? He will come around at some point, hopefully, and if he doesn’t someone will make him, but you don’t have to be miserable when it comes to, uh, _partners_ , just because you’re living with us. I just wanted you to know that.”

“… Thank you,” he says, unable to come up with anything deeper, but it’s early and he hadn’t expected it and he hadn’t even _asked_ , figuring that he had been luckier than most people when it came to _their family_ , so he hadn’t wanted to, but if she’s bringing it up — it’s not that he had _plans_ with anyone back home, not really, but he hasn’t been with someone since _then_ and it’s been a long time and knowing they won’t care if he does is lifting a weight off his shoulders. “I might then. Someday soon.”

“Good, because Robb already wants to know why is it that his father and I are married and you aren’t.”

“ _What —_ what did you even tell him?”

“That you couldn’t get married because you don’t like _girls_ and he said that it’s, uh, stupid and that if you can’t marry you should get a boyfriend like _Jeyne Poole_ and _Beric Dondarrion_ in kindergarten.”

“… I haven’t just been scolded by a five year old who isn’t even in this room?”

“You might have,” she smiles, drinking her coffee.

Huh.

 _Well then_.

Maybe — maybe he should get out more often, these days.

Maybe he _really_ , really should.

  
5\. **Privilege (Set Me Free) - Patti Smith Group**

>   
>  _I see it all before me: the days of love and torment;_
> 
> _the nights of rock-and-roll_
> 
> _I see it all before me_
> 
> _Sometimes my spirit's empty; don't have the will to go on_
> 
> _I wish someone would send me energy._
> 
> _Give me something, give me something to give._
> 
> _Oh, God, give me something: a reason to live_
> 
> _My body is aching, don't want sympathy_
> 
> _Come on. Come and love me._
> 
> _Come on. Set me free._
> 
> _Oh, I'm so young, so goddamn young._
> 
> _Oh, I'm so young, so goddamn._
> 
> _Set me free._
> 
> _Ah, damn, goddamn, goddamn, goddamn._
> 
> _Here I am_  
> 

Brynden doesn’t do that the next day.

The next day, though, he walks straight into the nearest GLF center he can find and asks if they might need some help around. They say they always do, and actually they can always use someone in counseling younger people. He says he’s available three times each week bar complications, they say it’s great for them and for the next couple months, and — apparently people do like him because he _doesn’t bullshit around_ , and the more time passes the more he feels like while he didn’t luck out with Hoster he _certainly_ did with Cat.

Still —

Being around people who actually have partners and a life beyond work, as hard as it gets _especially_ these days, does wonders to make him feel like he missed out on — a lot of things. Then again, being single and not having been with anyone at the brink of his forties and since he left Ireland is certainly _not_ helping here, but most people he runs into aren’t really his type either, and since he’s always around either troubled kids or the same ten people running things, he doesn’t — well, _meet_ anyone.

But at least he has contact with people who aren’t his relatives or his co-workers, who all like him — it could be plenty worse.

He’s been there for three months when Ellaria, another volunteer who does more work with counseling women, stops him on a fairly cold and foggy day in early October.

“I was wondering," she asks, “we’re throwing a Halloween party, it falls on a week-end this year. I mean, we’re also trying to put some money together for both our people _and_ for the miners, you know we have contacts with LGSM.”

“Sure,” Brynden says. “Do you need help organizing?”

“Definitely, but I also wanted to know if you might attend? It’s really nothing much, we’re going around the neighborhood trick or treating where we know people won’t shut the door in our face.”

For a moment, he wants to accept — he hasn’t done this kind of thing in _years_ , but —

“I might have told my niece that I’d bring her kid trick or treating so they can have the night for themselves,” he says, but Ellaria obviously senses that he _wants_ to come.

“So bring the kid, unless the niece has issues with that.”

“I’ve been living with them for five years by now, I doubt it.”

“Then he could come. I mean, I’m definitely bringing mine, some others are bringing theirs and since we want people to give us money for _two_ different causes, no one is going to scar kids with their outfits.”

“I’ll ask her if she’s all right with it,” he answers, “but if she is, sure, I’m coming.”

“Great,” she grins back, “then you can meet me in my office later. I want people to have fun if it’s the last thing I’m organizing.”

Right. Lately there hasn’t been much fun to be had, not with two staff members who died in the span of two weeks.

He goes back to his counseling appointment and joins her later, and the more he thinks about it, the more he decides he _really_ does want to attend.

Hopefully he will get to.

——

Turns out, Cat and Ned have no issues with the idea. Sansa is staying with Ned’s younger brother for the day so he only would have to bring Robb who is apparently _very_ excited to meet Brynden’s friends, bless him.

So he tells Ellaria he’s coming.

“Pick a nice costume,” she replies before they get back to organizing the entire thing.

“I’ll definitely look into it,” he grins, and he realizes he’s _excited_ for it.

Who’d have thought, but he’s not going to complain that he actually feels like going out and have fun for the first time in _years_.

  
6\. **Halloween Parade - Lou Reed**

>   
>  _The past keeps knock, knock, knocking on my door_
> 
> _And I don't want to hear it anymore_
> 
> _No consolations please for feelin' funky_
> 
> _I got to get my head above my knees_
> 
> _But it makes me mad and mad makes me sad_
> 
> _and then I start to freeze_
> 
> _In the back of my mind I was afraid it might be true_
> 
> _In the back of my mind I was afraid that they meant you_
> 
> _The Halloween Parade_
> 
> _At the Halloween parade_
> 
> _At the Halloween parade_
> 
> _See you next year, at the Halloween parade_

  
“Oberyn, I _can’t_ come,” Jon tells him for the fifth time since the man showed up at his door.

“Bullshit,” Oberyn says, barging in without finding too much resistance. “Ellaria has organized the entire event, you _have_ donated money to both the miners _and_ the association and you come to the meetings when you’re not wishing Aerys would drop dead already and let social services take the kid, and you haven’t had fun since _before_ Rhaegar died. It’s been years. You’re coming to this damned party and if you don’t have a costume I brought you five different ones, you can even choose.”

“Listen, any other time I’d say yes, but — listen, last time I was at Aerys’s the kid just about begged me to make sure he wasn’t there on Halloween because apparently it’s _not_ a good time to be around his grandfather, and I had to beg the old bastard for half an hour to have _permission_ to keep him over for the weekend, and good thing he doesn’t know I’m telling everything to social service. Good thing it’s at most until the end of the year and we can come clean. I can’t show up with the kid at _that_ kind of party because if he knows this entire thing might fall apart and —”

“Jon,” Oberyn interrupts, “it's to _find money_. Ellaria’s bringing _ours_ , for that matter. I’m sure that a few other people are bringing their kids. It’s _within the neighborhood_. No one is ever going to know. And maybe the kid could do with trick or treating in between _nice_ people. Come on, if it goes badly I swear I’m going to personally find you a good lawyer, forget social services. Also, I think his cousin’s coming.”

“ _What_? Since when Lyanna’s brother has relatives —”

“He hasn’t, but his wife does and the guy is in the organization. Come on, you did want those two to meet at some point, maybe it’d be better if it wasn’t in an office.”

Jon feels like he should clear this with Ned and Cat — they’ve kept everything under wraps until now and didn’t tell anyone for a good reason, but still, they _did_ agree those two should meet sooner rather than later.

He has a feeling he’s going to regret this, but he also knows Oberyn and he knows he’s not going to relent.

“All right. What poison do you have for me to choose from?” He sighs.

“Oh, that’s what I like to hear,” Oberyn grins, and goes back to the car dragging out _five_ costumes out of the trunk.

He just hopes that at least _one_ of them is somehow dignified.

——

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” Jon groans as he puts the security belt around his namesake in the back before moving on to the front.

“Why? _You_ picked the costume,” Oberyn says, turning the engine on. “And what did _Jon_ over here say? That David Bowie is…?”

“The coolest,” the _other_ Jon confirms from the back.

Jon about wants to die of embarrassment, but the _David Bowie_ get-up was honestly the least embarrassing thing among his picks and he was _not_ going as fucking Dracula or _worse_. Where did Oberyn even find this stuff, he has no idea. That said, at least his namesake looks fairly happy to go even if he has no costume for himself, but he says he doesn’t mind, so there’s nothing much they can do about it. They drive to the proper building where he immediately notices that Alf and Garth are _not_ around — shit, last he knew they were doing okay, but hasn’t been here in a month and a lot can happen in a month.

He says hi to Ellaria, who does _not_ look like Prime Minister Thatcher at all _but_ certainly did her best with her costume, especially the sign around her neck reading _If you give ME money this time I won’t use it to starve people_. She compliments him on the dress and he about burns as red as his beard and decides to try and locate Ned Stark’s kid — Jon _definitely_ didn’t look like he was eager to talk with Oberyn’s daughter and they didn’t push it.

“By the way,” Oberyn tells him before putting on his Reagan mask — _right_ , he and Ellaria definitely timed it right and Jon decides it’s a perfect choice for _Halloween_ , they’re both terrifying —, “if you want Jon to hang out with Robb, he’s with the great-uncle. Only one in Elvis get-up. Good luck finding us money,” he grins before pulling down the mask.

 _Elvis_ get-up?

Jon takes a look around, minding the tiny hand holding his, and then —

Then he sees what Oberyn meant, because a few meters from where he’s standing there’s a man slightly taller than Jon is, with hair of a nice auburn color though with what looks like a few streaks of white at the top, dressed in a nicely tailored white outfit with a red shirt and a matching white coat on top that you really couldn’t mistake for anyone else, and fine, maybe the sunglasses are a bit too much given that it’s _dark_ but they do certainly look good with the rest of the get-up.

He’s also trying to make sure a red-haired kid with blue eyes bundled in a heavy blue coat doesn’t run off.

Must be Ned Stark’s kid and great-uncle, then.

He wishes he wasn’t trapped in this damned sky-blue suit and that Oberyn hadn’t put bloody make-up on him, but he cannot change that _now_ , so he marches straight towards the other man, who looks at him and then at _Jon_ and then —

“Oberyn said _you_ might come and say hi,” he says, tentatively, moving up his glasses, revealing a pair of large, _nice_ blue eyes.

“So what if he was right? Uh, Jon Connington, by the way.” He holds out a hand.

“Brynden Tully, though I guess not for the next four hours.” He shakes it. Jon decides he has a nice, strong grip.

Jon is about to look down and make introductions, but Ned’s kid — right, _Robb_ — has apparently introduced himself already and Jon’s actually _not_ backing off.

He does nothing. Brynden doesn’t either.

A minute later, Robb is asking if they can _please_ move ahead together as long as they stay in sight.

“Fine by me,” Brynden says, and Jon agrees immediately. They _do_ stay in sight as everyone else starts walking out of the center and out in the street.

“Well,” Jon says, “I guess that it could have gone worse.”

“Much worse,” Brynden agrees. “So, are we raising money while they hopefully get their sweets?”

“I’m down with that,” Jon replies, and fuck, maybe he was wrong when he thought this was a _bad_ idea.

  
  
7\. **If I Fell - The Beatles**  

>   
>  _If I fell in love with you_
> 
> _Would you promise to be true_
> 
> _And help me understand_
> 
> _'Cause I've been in love before_
> 
> _And I found that love was more_
> 
> _Than just holding hands_

  
By the time midnight has come and he has a feeling Robb is going to go into a sugar crash (because _he_ and the other kids definitely got enough sugar for the next ten months), Brynden is reasonably sure that they raised enough money to at least fix the heating in the bathroom — which has been broken for the last two months, to everyone’s chagrin — and to put in the emergency funds, and the portion for the miners isn’t too bad either. He’s also reasonably sure that when he tells Ned and Cat that Robb and his cousin are getting along like a house on fire they will welcome the news. And then he’s also reasonably sure that the _other_ Jon is _way_ more his type than anyone he’s run into since moving to London. And it’s not just the Bowie get-up, which certainly helps, but it’s that he’s not _that damned young_ , he doesn’t talk too much but when he does he doesn’t waste breath, he has a nice sense of humor after he loosens up and he hates Thatcher as much as everyone around here does.

And when he stopped worrying about whatever it was that he was worrying about, they talked shop but _easily_ , and Brynden’s not talked shop with people he likes in a very long time.

What had Cat said, before?

On one side it looks a bit early and today they have kids to bring home before they crash, but on the other it’s so rare he runs into people he actually likes in the _I might date them_ way, and it’s been a long time, so —

So maybe he _should_ give it a try, and if it doesn’t work, well, he won’t have regrets about it.

“Hey,” he asks as they head back to the center with their earnings and the kids still making themselves visible — he has no idea of how they’re still awake, and Cat will kill him tomorrow given how much candy Robb just ate, but for once it’s not going to hurt anyone. “I was wondering, maybe after we drop them at home you’d like to stay around for a drink or two? I could do with one. Just if you aren’t dead tired, of course.”

Jon looks back at him through smudged blue make-up, eyes slightly wide as if he hadn’t been expecting it.

“ _Well_ ,” he says, slowly, as if he’s weighing the offer, “technically _he’_ s sleeping at my place and no one else is around, I don’t know if I want him to be on his own —”

Fair, that wasn’t a no and Brynden would have the same concerns, so he’s about to ask if he’ll take a rain check —

That is, until Robb runs up to them and asks if Jon _could_ stay the night at their place. Jon, the other one, looks fairly happy at the prospect.

“Uhm,” Brynden says, “your parents will be back by midnight, so… I guess why not? I mean, they wouldn’t say no. But just if _he_ agrees.”

Jon looks surprised for a moment, but then he shrugs and he has the face of someone who’s just thought _well, fuck it all to hell and back, why not_. “If the parents agree, I say why not as well.”

Brynden decides that given that this means they _will_ be going for drinks after, well, Robb will probably won’t get scolded for all the sugar he’s ingesting while he’s under _his_ specific supervision.

Definitely _not_.  


8\. **I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You - Simon Kr **äutler****  
  


> _Well I hope that I don't fall in love with you_
> 
> _'Cause falling in love just makes me blue_
> 
> _Well the room is crowded, people everywhere_
> 
> _And I wonder, should I offer you a chair?_
> 
> _Well if you sit down with this old clown_
> 
> _Take that frown and break it_
> 
> _Before the evening's gone away_
> 
> _I think that we could make it_
> 
> _And I hope that I don't fall in love with you_
> 
> _I can see that you are lonesome just like me_
> 
> _And it being late, you'd like some some company_
> 
> _Well I turn around to look at you_
> 
> _And you look back at me_
> 
> _The guy you're with he's up and split_
> 
> _The chair next to you's free_
> 
> _And I hope that you don't fall in love with me  
>    
>  _

Jon had no idea of what he was accepting when he said yes to the drinks offer.

Certainly not a _nice_ pub without dance floors, which is a far cry from most places Oberyn drags him to — he does love the man, dearly, but he still hasn’t realized that Jon and glitter don’t really match and most likely never will, same as disco music.

Also, back while they were dropping Robb and Jon at Robb’s house he ran into the bathroom to get the bloody make-up off him, so now at least he’s only dressed in a horribly tacky neon sky-blue suit but that’s the worst of the outfit, while Brynden’s changed into jeans and a leather jacket and Jon envies him for a moment before thinking that well, he _does_ look hot.

And then he realizes, _I hadn’t gone there in what, twenty years_?

Before he can panic, though —

“So, what are you getting?”

“Uh, I’m good with beer, thanks. Red, whatever they have.”

“Right. I’ll go get it at the counter.”

Jon nods and watches him go, and damn, he has a _very_ nice ass now that he can look at it in jeans and not under that white coat —

Is his mind in the gutter or _what_? Thing is, he hasn’t really been with many people period — since Rhaegar died he _did_ date around if anything because there’s a limit to how frustrated can you get while still occasionally waking up crying whenever you have sad, useless dreams about the guy you’ve been in love with most of your life, but it was nothing that went anywhere and most of those people were okay, but they were _not_ Rhaegar, and somehow it made him lose all the force of will.

 _Now_ , instead — well, Brynden’s definitely _not_ Rhaegar but it’s not making him lose force of will. All the contrary.

Thing is — he had no idea of when it happened. He hadn’t known he _could_ want anyone but Rhaegar.

And a moment later there’s a beer in front of him and he drinks some so quickly that it falls over the suit’s breast.

“Well,” he says when Brynden starts looking around for a napkin, “it’s Oberyn’s, he can bring it to the dry cleaner’s. Don’t sweat it.”

“All right,” he replies, drinking from his own bourbon glass. “But don’t be so mean to that poor suit. Looks nice on you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a bit too flashy, but thank you. I could say the same.”

“About the Elvis get-up or _this_ get up?”

“Both, but you’ll have to guess which was too flashy,” he says, winking ever so slightly, and _since when is he flirting this openly_?

He has the distinct feeling that he has _not_ noticed moving on with his life.

It’s fucking _weird_.

Some part of him is saying that he should stand up and leave because no one is Rhaegar and no one could ever be, but it’s way less loud than it’d have been four years ago, and a louder one he had no idea even existed is saying, _don’t fuck this up._ He drinks some more beer and sticks to talking more shop, and — it’s _nice_ , and it’s obvious neither of them is expecting _anything_ out of whatever this is, but at the second beer he’s way more relaxed and he’s thinking that at least they could be friends if not anything else.

Which at least would make a change from his usual circle of maybe ten people out of which Oberyn is the only one he sees regularly.

Fuck, his life is _sad_ , he decides as he drinks some more beer.

“So, just for science, Bowie’s not your type?”

“Musically or, like, aesthetically? Both, to be honest. I mean, he’s not _bad_ but I prefer… more straightforward stuff. In general. Which is why I hate suits.”

Brynden nods as he finishes his own glass. “Well, you know what, I think there’s a place nearby you might not hate.”

“Really?”

“Closes at four-something in the morning. It’s still… nearly two. And tomorrow is a Sunday.”

“Dare I ask what this place _is_?”

“Might be a surprise.”

For a moment, Jon thinks, _should I_ —

Then he decides that maybe it’s time he follows the _louder_ voice.

“You know what, why not. Just let me finish this.”

“Oh, take your time, I’ll pay.”

“Wait, I owe you —”

“You can pay next time,” Brynden says, stopping him from reaching for his wallet, and then he heads for the check-out.

Well, _all right_ , Jon thinks, and he doesn’t have a clue of where this is going, but —

But fuck it. Maybe it’s high time he actually does live a little, isn’t it?

  
9\. **Thundercrack - Bruce Springsteen**

>   
>  _She moves up, she moves back_
> 
> _Out on the floor there just is no one cleaner_
> 
> _She does this thing she calls the "jump back jack"_
> 
> _She's got the heart of a ballerina_
> 
> _Oh, she ain't no little girl, no, she ain't got no curls_
> 
> _Her hair ain't brown and her eyes ain't either_
> 
> _My heart's wood, she's a carpenter_
> 
> _She's an angel in the night, what she does is alright_
> 
> _Dance with me, partner_
> 
> _Dance with me, partner_
> 
> _Dance with me, partner, 'til the dawn_
> 
> _Baby, all night long_  
> 

The _place_ is — not one of Oberyn’s usual hangouts. It’s another bar, definitely catering to _their_ kind of clientele, that has a small dance floor far from the counter.

And most people dancing are doing it to — country music?

“Really?” He asks as they take a seat, but he’s actually kind of delighted — it’s _nice_ , it’s not dark, the music is not _that_ loud and the drink selection looks fairly good, from the menu.

“You _did_ say you didn’t like disco music and I don’t either. I walk in front of this place every other day but it’s not like I ever ran into anyone I could have invited, but it did look like your thing.”

“It’s more my thing than most places I’ve been to for drinks anyway,” he agrees. He probably _shouldn’t_ get another beer, but he has good tolerance and he’s nowhere near drunk — maybe he’s halfway to buzzed, but not even close. He takes off his coat and jacket, opening the first button of his shirt, and it must be a slow night or this isn’t the kind of hangout people choose for Halloween because it’s not really that crowded. “And I’m paying for this round.”

“… Right, right, I’m not insisting. I’m getting whatever you have,” Brynden raises his hands, the corner of his mouth quirking upward, and it shows a few lines on his face, but damn if he doesn’t look _good_ and if those blue eyes of his aren’t really _something_.

Jon hurries towards the counter and pays for two red ales, hoping he doesn’t end up with half of one on his shirt given that his fingers are slightly shaking.

He _doesn’t_ , thankfully, and brings the beer back to the table without much of a problem.

Thing is, _that_ is when he gets to full-on buzzed.

“Shit,” Brynden says, “you’re telling me _that_ is how he died?”

“Yeah,” Jon replies, not knowing _how_ exactly they ended up discussing Rhaegar, but here they are and it doesn’t even hurt half as much as he thought it would. “They were coming back from some party, I think. Good thing they left the kid with me rather than bring him with, but there you go. I never even wanted to know who was driving.”

Brynden says nothing and Jon desperately wants a refill, but he can’t be bothered to go get it, and his tongue is _way_ looser than usual now. “So — I guess it’s hardly dignified, but what can I do about it.”

“What’s _not_ dignified?”

“That it’s been years since he died and almost two decades since I met him and I’m still commiserating about him when he _definitely_ wasn’t into guys.”

“Oh come on, if it had been a woman no one would call it pathetic.”

“Maybe,” Jon concedes. “Still, see why I _really_ hope social services don’t fail me.”

“Well, I get why Ned and my niece weren’t sharing details. Anyway, he seems like a sweet kid. No one would mind.”

“Good, because his grandfather does. Fuck, I kinda ruined the atmosphere, didn’t I?”

“Nonsense, don’t even go there. I could do that by talking to you about my less than stellar relationship with my brother but you don’t want to.”

“And what if I take a rain check on it?” He asks, tentatively, thinking _am I seriously saying I want to do this again_ , except that — he _does_ want to do this again, he realizes. Very much. He’s having _fun_ , which hasn’t happened in a long time, and he likes the place, and he’s never really talked about Rhaegar to anyone who didn’t know already and it’s _liberating_ , damn it —

“Sure,” Brynden says, “I’d be delighted to cash on that, though you might not want to.” He finishes his drink, and he looks about to ask Jon if he should get a refill —

That is, until someone decides that country music is out for the night and it changes into _Dancing in the Dark_ , which might be the only top ten hit of the last fifteen years that Jon actually _does_ like.

“What,” Brynden says, “you like Springsteen better than country?”

“I like that better than a lot of things,” Jon says. “Heck, I dragged Rhaegar to see him in ’81, it was a few months before he — well, _before_.”

“Seriously? How did that go?”

He grins, unable _not_ to. “Well, I’ve known him for years. Girls _always_ flocked to him. Guys a bit less, but girls? Always. That might’ve been the one time when every woman who tried to hit on one of us did it with _me_ and when I said that I wasn’t into girls and Rhaegar was taken everyone did a double take. I thought he was hilarious, he — I don’t really know. He was _definitely_ more into David Bowie, though. Christ, in retrospective it’s funnier than it has any right to be.”

“Hey, I never said I _didn’t_ like Springsteen. Actually — fancy a round?”

Brynden nods towards the dance floor.

“Wait, _seriously_? I haven’t in ages and I’m not even that great —”

“I’m _shit_ at dancing, but if we both like that how bad can it be?”

He’s holding out a hand and Jon can’t remember the last time he did this, no, wait, he can, it was Oberyn’s fucking stag party and he was _definitely_ drunk, and they’re halfway through the damned song so there’ll be time left —

Well, _fuck that_ , he’s apparently living a little tonight.

“Why the hell not,” he finally says, slamming his hand into Brynden’s, and letting him lead the way to the half-empty dance floor.

Nothing computes, this evening, but —

But he doesn’t think he minds. Not at all.  
  
  
10.  **The Rest of the Night - Warren Zevon**

>   
>  _Why stop now? let's party the rest of the night_
> 
> _Seven o'clock, eight o'clock, nine o’clock, ten_
> 
> _You wanna go home? why? honey, when?_
> 
> _We may never get this chance again,_
> 
> _Let's party for the rest of the night_
> 
> _I'm starting to fall in love with you_
> 
> _Let's party for the rest of the night_
> 
> _He had meant to be on the dance floor for one song, maybe two._

 

No one’s more surprised than Brynden himself when they only fall back on their chairs some _ten_ songs later because whoever is in charge of the music stuck with rock music and another couple Springsteen tunes, and he hadn’t even known he _liked_ dancing for that matter —

Except that as not really great at it as they both are, they actually were enjoying it?

That is, until they both decided they were both exhausted.

“Shit,” he says as he drops back on the seat, “maybe I’m getting old.”

“Or maybe we both have been drinking since midnight, it’s three and a half in the bloody morning and we’ve been awake for some twenty hours yet?”

“… Right, can’t disagree on _that_ ,” Brynden says. “But it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

“Hell _yes_ ,” Jon agrees, sounding like he’s somewhat surprised he’s saying it. “It might’ve been too long. Too bad I don’t think they’re staying open for long.”

True enough — he’s fairly sure they close around four when it’s some special occasion like tonight. At this point either one of them walks the other home and then they will see each other next time, or —

_Or._

Brynden never was the kind of person who likes to beat around the bush. He also thinks it’s been long enough since the last time he liked someone _this_ much.

“So,” he says, “should we call it a night or not?”

Jon, who had been staring at his empty glass, looks back up at him, his lips curling upwards, slightly. “Two days ago, I’d have never thought I’d be out at three and a half in the morning without feeling like I wanted to crash for a week,” he says. “What if, going against everything I thought in the last _fifteen_ years or so, I said I didn’t want to call it a night?”

“I’m saying that I’m currently in my niece’s guest room and that there are kids around the house, so _my_ place would be a bad idea.”

“How interesting,” Jon says, “mine is completely empty.”

“So, should I walk you home?”

Jon’s grin shakes slightly less as he says, “I think you should.”

Brynden thinks he’ll be _very_ glad to do that.  
  
  
11\. **Electrical Storm - U2**

>   
>  _Car alarm won't let you back to sleep_
> 
> _You're kept awake dreaming someone else’s dream_
> 
> _Coffee is cold but it'll get you through_
> 
> _Compromise that's nothing new to you._
> 
> _Let's see colours that have never been seen_
> 
> _Let's go places no one else has been_
> 
> _It's hot as hell, honey in this room_
> 
> _Sure hope the weather will break soon_
> 
> _The air is heavy, heavy as a truck_
> 
> _We need the rain to wash away our bad luck_
> 
> _Well if the sky can crack there must be some way back_
> 
> _To love and only love_

 

It starts raining the moment they get to Jon’s apartment, which means he ends up shedding away his wet suit the moment he’s inside the door, his hair wet and his shirt as well under the coat — he hadn’t buttoned as they left the bar in a hurry hurry, _bad idea._ Brynden’s hair is wet as well, and the heat inside his house is almost suffocating in comparison to how hard it was outside, but it doesn’t matter because the moment they’re out of their shirts Jon’s dragging Brynden into his bedroom and they’re kissing and _fuck_ , it’s been years since he kissed _anyone_ and the last time he had casual sex with someone they weren’t taking their time running their tongue against his wet, cold lips nor keeping an arm on his waist as they fell on the bed — it had been a bathroom stall and he thinks he’d rather forget how _sad_ the entire affair had been.

It’s not now — not as they don’t lose their trousers for a while because they end up making out for a damned long time as rain pours harder on the windows, not as they don’t tear any clothing apart when they finally do also because it’s _late_ and the previous day might be starting to catch up with them.

“Hey,” Brynden asks as he kicks his jeans off the bed, “you’ve got any condoms or do I have to fish my wallet out of the ground?”

“First drawer.” He nods towards the nightstand. “If they aren’t expired.”

He turns over, grabs the packet. “Not for another year or so. You want to do the honors?”

“I might,” Brynden says, “but you’re welcome to do the same later.”

That last time he had sex in the bathroom stall, he had barely looked at the guy in the face. He was blonde with pale blue eyes, though, and he had thought all along _that’s not right_ as the guy’s legs wrapped around his back and he pushed him against the wall.

 _But_ now it’s nowhere like that and he looks up the entire time as roughened fingers open him up slow at first and slightly less so later, he’s staring into dark blue eyes that couldn’t be taken for violet at any given time and it’s _fine_ because he doesn’t want them to be violet, and he’s fairly sure the neighbors hear him all along while Brynden fucks into him then _who cares_. He’ll worry about that later, if anyone gives him shit about it. For now he’s going to enjoy every damn moment of it, from the slight burn to the way Brynden is pushing into him slowly but intently to how hot their skin is burning as they touch, and he can hear rain pounding harder out of the window and shit, is the sky not even _that_ dark anymore?

Well, _who cares_. He realizes he _had_ missed _living a little_ , a lot, and as he reaches up and grabs a fistful of Brynden’s hair as he cants his hips downwards and finds his prostate again, and _again_ , he decides that yes, he’s definitely up to do the honors later.

_Later._

_——_

They don’t fall asleep until he can see a pale sun beyond the clouds as he closes his eyes.

And as much as he aches all over in all the good ways, he knows he’s not going to regret a second of it.  


12.  **The Traveling Kind - Emmylou Harrys & Rodney Crowell**

>   
>  _We were born to brave this tilted world_
> 
> _With our hearts laid on the line_
> 
> _Be it way-crossed boy or red dirt girl_
> 
> _The song becomes the traveling kind_
> 
> _When the music slowly starts to fade_
> 
> _Into the light's last soft decline_
> 
> _Let us lie down in that evening shade_
> 
> _And rest among the traveling kind_

 

“You know,” Oberyn tells him over the phone a couple of months later, “I should be rightfully angry at you because you spilled beer all over the Bowie getup suit.”

“But you’re not?” Jon grins into the receiver.

“Well, given that it found you a date and that it looks like it wasn’t a one time thing, I think it was a worthy sacrifice.”

“Fuck you, though not really,” Jon says, but he can’t even muster the force of will to be angry, not when — they’re actually going out for the weekend. To Margrave, of all places, but it’s miraculously sunny even if it’s _cold_ and since social services are actually starting to do their job and _finally_ notified Aerys that he’s in no way shape or form fit to have a five year old around the house and Ned and Cat _do_ need a reprieve they agreed to drive the kids there to breathe some fresh air. And nothing’s going to happen other than maybe extremely PG-rated things after they’re asleep at night, really, but —

Since when did he go from _not living a little_ , as Oberyn put it, to going on weekends on the sea with a guy he’s _definitely_ dating and with which he’s more than a little bit serious, he has no idea, but he’s not going to complain.

No, not really.

“You know, anyone with the minimum amount of functioning brains could _hear_ that Halloween party was the best thing that happened to you in years. Now go be a suburban soccer mom, I won’t charge you for the dry cleaner’s.”

“I am _not_ a suburban _soccer mom_ , Martell.”

“You’re more of one than any actual woman with children I know, which includes _both_ my sister and my wife, and by the way, Elia says she might actually get a train tomorrow morning and drop there and meet you because it’s ridiculous that if your godson is Rhaegar’s kid he shouldn’t even meet her kids and since Aerys isn’t in the picture anymore —”

“Sure,” Jon tells him, and gives him the name of the hotel they should be staying at.

Maybe he _could_ take a few minutes to tell Jon something about his father and how they met and how he was back in the day. A year ago the mere thought gutted him, but now —

Now he thinks it wouldn’t hurt half as much as it’d have back _then_.

He puts on his coat, buttons it up, grabs a scarf and his car keys and glances at himself in the mirror before turning off the light, grabbing the backpack with a couple changes of clothes for the week-end and heading for the door. He doesn’t know if one can _see_ what Oberyn said before, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s in dire need to sleep for the next ten centuries lately.

He’s not going to complain.

He stops at the entrance of his apartment, grabs the phone and dials Ned and Cat’s number.

“Hey,” he says when Brynden is the one who picks it up, not that he had any doubts given that it’s seven-something in the morning. “I was just heading out. Everything all right or do I need to get something before I drive over there?”

“Nah, don’t. But be quick because they’ve been up for _one hour_ and apparently they _really_ want to leave already. _Robb_ , I know you’re excited but don’t wake your parents up,” he says, and then — “Sorry, that was way too close to the bedroom door.”

“Fine, I’ll be there in fifteen. Don’t let them wake anyone up.”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” he smiles, and then closes the call and heads out of the house, locking the door behind him.

If he feels warm all over even in the damned _cold_ morning — it’s _January_ and it snowed a week ago, of course it is… well, he thinks he’s earned the right to be.  


13.  **Trains I Missed - Walt Witkins & The Mystiqueros**

>   
>  _Here’s to the trains I missed, the loves I lost_
> 
> _The bridges I burned the rivers I never crossed_
> 
> _Here’s to the call I didn’t hear, the signs I didn’t heed_
> 
> _The roads I couldn’t take the map that I just wouldn’t read_
> 
> _It’s a big ole world but I found my way_
> 
> _From the hell and the hurt that led me straight to this_
> 
> _Here’s to the trains I missed_
> 
> _Here’s to the place I found, the love I know_
> 
> _The earth and the sky that I call home_
> 
> _And here’s to the things I believe, bigger than me_
> 
> _And the moment I find myself right where I’m supposed to be_

 

April 12th, 1985, is a strangely sunny day.

Brynden doesn’t think he can recall that it ever was _warm_ in April since he moved here, nor _sunny_ , but he’s not going to complain, not when it means they can do their weekly fundraising in the park rather than on the street under the rain.

Also, Ellaria has put him and Jon on the mid-afternoon turn, which means that they’re going to be free in twenty minutes and they have the rest of it at their disposal, which would be a change since in between work and the _other_ Jon’s custody case having been closed (in _their_ favor, thankfully) maybe two weeks ago this year has been busy as hell and the last time they had spent the night at Jon’s place was what, the month before?

“How much did you get for now?” He asks as he comes back to their table with his earnings of the last hour or so — not much, but better than nothing.

Jon shrugs. “Thrown with Ellaria’s and Jeremy’s, a third of what we got at Halloween.”

He dumps his own money into the main box.

“Wow,” Jon says, “we certainly sent you to the greediest part of the park, didn’t we?”

“Well, it _was_ full of old ladies who most likely voted Thatcher walking their dog. Why, did you go ask the students?”

“We might have. Well, hopefully the evening round will be better.”

“You two can leave if you want,” Ellaria says, rolling her eyes. “I can feel how much you wanted to be out of here an hour ago.”

“But —” Jon interrupts her.

“You _did_ raise some money, I know you both haven’t had a free afternoon in in ages, just go. I can handle the fort for fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks,” Brynden tells her, grabbing his jacket from one of the chairs they had around the picnic table they used to put on their makeshift stand, and Jon follows him a moment later. They don’t do _anything_ as stupid as holding hands while they pass through the old ladies walking their dogs that barely gave him a cent before and he longs for the day where he won’t have to care.

Hopefully it’ll get there before the next thirty years or so.

Then he shakes his head and decides that it’s high time he comes clean about _what_ he did the morning after they won the custody case — admittedly, he’d have done that anyway but after _that_ … it just felt appropriate.

“Hey,” he says as they walk out of the park, “what if I bought a thing to celebrate the fact that you don’t have to see Aerys Targaryen for the rest of your days?”

“I say,” Jon smirks back, “that I might have gotten you an early birthday present a week ago or so but I figured it would make no sense to wait until May, so we could go exchange at the usual bar?”

Right. The one where they went on Halloween.

“Sure. Sounds great. But — it’d make no sense to wait?”

“I think you might want it _now_ ,” Jon just says, not offering more, and Brynden doesn’t ask any more questions as they head for the bar in question, which is thankfully some ten minutes away.

It’s half-empty, but then again it’d be, at four PM on a Friday afternoon.

“So,” Jon says after they order some black tea, “what was the infamous thing?”

Brynden smirks and reaches inside his jacket, where he kept the envelope carefully sealed, then slips it towards Jon.

“It’s blank, too? Wow, you really wanted to keep it — I can’t fucking believe it.” Jon’s pale blue eyes have gone so wide at seeing what’s inside it that it’d be almost amusing, if he wasn’t also… _laughing_?

“Hey, it wasn’t supposed to be funny,” Brynden tells him.

“It is _now_ ,” Jon says as he reaches inside his coat’s pocket and grabs another yellow envelope. “Since _this_ is is your early birthday present.”

Brynden opens it.

Then he breaks down laughing too, since it’s two tickets for Bruce Springsteen’s London gig on July 6th, and Brynden’s were… two tickets for Springsteen’s London gig on July 4th.

“I can’t believe that,” he says, feeling like he could cry for how hard he’s laughing.

“I _can_ believe that, since I’m seeing it,” Jon replies, wiping at his, and by the time they reached some composure, their tea has arrived and all four tickets are safely inside one of the envelopes, which is also still on the table in between the two of them.

“So,” Brynden says, “you want to go to one and give the spares to someone else, or —”

“I was thinking we should just go to both,” Jon grins. “I can _definitely_ do both. Also — wait, we both got standing tickets. Shit, we might as well camp there and sleep outside Wembley.”

“Oh, I think I could think of worse ways to spend my time,” Brynden says, entirely meaning it. “And I can do both, it’s not like I’m so old I can’t handle it.”

“Please, given that he’s pretty much my age and he can handle four hours of that _performing_ , _we_ can definitely handle two gigs in a row. And I’m keeping them just to be sure.”

“Sure you are,” he agrees immediately. “Wouldn’t want to risk losing them. And do I have to start finding myself tight jeans and white tank tops so that you don’t end up looking at the guy too much?”

“If you want to walk around the house in _that_ get-up, I’m absolutely not stopping you,” Jon laughs, their fingers tangling together, and okay, it was definitely some well-spent money, and he can’t believe _they bought each other Springsteen tickets_.

Or maybe he can.

“I think I have the white tank top somewhere.”

“You’re welcome to wear it whenever you want, though _possibly_ not in front of the kids. I have self-control up to a point.”

They’re both grinning hard enough to hurt by now, but —

That sounds good.

That sounds _really_ good, and he thinks he might wear that for real _soon_ , just to see what happens if Jon says fuck it to his self-control. He thinks he’d like that a lot.

“Fuck,” Jon says, glancing at the tickets. “Ten years ago, I wouldn’t have — never mind.”

“You wouldn’t have _what_?”

“Though I was actually ever going to do mundane stuff like, well, going to concerts with people I was in a steady relationship with, if you get my meaning.”

“And what if I told you that ten years ago I was sure I’d end up spending my life living someplace everyone knew me without relationships of any kind in plans?”

They stare at each other for a moment, Jon’s hand slightly squeezing his.

“I’m saying I’m really glad we both went to that party,” he finally says, and — right. Right, there’s just an answer to _that_ , isn’t it?

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m _really_ glad we did, too.”

 

 

End.


End file.
